The party found themselves in yet another chamber of the accursed shadowmaze, their nerves already frayed from countless encounters with the dungeon’s malevolent inhabitants. Wyz, ever the cautious scout, pressed his pointed ear against the southeastern door, straining to catch any telltale sounds beyond. Meanwhile, his companions busied themselves searching the room for hidden treasures or traps, their movements creating a soft symphony of rustling gear and whispered observations.
Their methodical exploration was rudely interrupted when a pair of glowing eyes materialized at the southwestern door, watching them with an unsettling intelligence. At the same moment, Wyz’s keen hearing picked up the faint but unmistakable sound of shuffling from beyond the southeastern portal—the kind of shuffling that spoke of things that should be dead but weren’t.
Faced with mysterious watchers and ominous sounds, the party chose the path of least immediate resistance and headed north. The corridor stretched before them, punctuated by doors to the west at its midpoint and another door at its terminus. When they paused to listen at the northern door, hoping to avoid another unpleasant surprise, fate decided to deliver one anyway. Four skeletal warriors burst from concealment, their bone weapons gleaming with malevolent purpose.
Quick-thinking Wyz scattered his caltrops across the corridor like a goblin sowing seeds of pain, then beat a hasty retreat through the eastern door. His companions followed suit, with Helfen calling upon the divine favor of Fortuna to drive back the unholy abominations. The cleric’s faith proved strong enough to send two of the skeletons fleeing into the shadows, their courage—if such creatures could be said to possess courage—failing them.
The room they’d retreated into held its own surprises. Idrivian discovered this the hard way when the floor nearly gave way beneath his feet, revealing a cunningly concealed pit trap. From the depths below came a weak but desperate voice—an emaciated dwarf, trapped and pleading for rescue from his subterranean prison.
Lessa, ever compassionate, immediately tossed a rope down into the pit while Fu worked to keep the treacherous lid propped open. Their rescue attempt was cut short when the remaining skeletons smashed through the door like bony battering rams, their empty eye sockets fixed on the party with murderous intent.
Before the undead archers could loose their arrows, Wyz’s sling stone whistled through the air and cracked against a skeletal forehead with a satisfying thunk. Unfortunately, the skeletons’ return volley proved more accurate—Lessa cried out as an arrow found its mark, and the pit’s lid slammed shut with an ominous finality.
What followed was a chaotic melee that would have been comical if it weren’t so deadly. Idrivian charged forward with his longsword, swinging with more enthusiasm than skill, his blade cutting nothing but air. Fu, showing admirable loyalty, dragged the wounded Lessa to what passed for safety in their current predicament.
Wyz attempted another sling shot but found his aim wanting in the heat of battle. Lessa, bleeding and desperate, crawled into a corner like a wounded animal seeking shelter, while Helfen demonstrated that discretion was indeed the better part of valor by sneaking past the skeletons and disappearing through the door.
Idrivian’s second attack proved no more successful than his first, his sword once again finding only empty space where skeleton should have been. The undead warriors, however, had no such trouble with their aim. One skeleton charged Wyz directly, its rusted blade whistling past the goblin’s head by mere inches. Wyz responded with his magical dagger, employing a clever feint before landing a solid strike that sent bone chips flying.
Realizing that standing toe-to-toe with animated skeletons was perhaps not his wisest career choice, Wyz melted back into the shadows at the rear of the room, hoping to lure his bony pursuer into the pit trap. His tactical retreat, however, coincided with a series of tragic events that would haunt the survivors’ dreams.
Aura, in a moment of fatal clumsiness, dropped her torch and paid the ultimate price for the mistake. Idrivian followed shortly after, his luck finally running out in the most permanent way possible. The room grew darker and more desperate with each fallen comrade.
Seeing the skeleton that had been pursuing him now distracted by other targets, Wyz made a bold decision. Rather than continue his retreat, he charged back into the fray, his magical dagger finding its mark once more. Knutella, meanwhile, decided that retreat was the better part of survival and fled toward the exit, though not without colliding with a skeleton in her haste.
Wyz’s third strike proved to be the charm. His dagger pierced something vital in the skeleton’s unholy anatomy, and the creature collapsed into a pile of dust and bone fragments, leaving only a glowing gem where its forehead had been. The goblin snatched up this prize and fled, pausing only to grab a torch that one of his fleeing companions had abandoned.
In his haste to escape, Wyz attempted to leap over his own scattered caltrops—a maneuver that proved far more difficult than anticipated. He landed squarely in the middle of his improvised minefield, the sharp spikes biting into his flesh as he struggled to regain his footing. As he pulled himself upright, something caught his eye: a magical swirling pattern within the captured gem.
Memory struck him like a lightning bolt. He’d seen skeletons reform from their gems before! Panic overtook caution as he frantically stabbed at the swirling energy with his dagger, desperate to prevent his fallen foe’s resurrection. The gem cracked under his assault, but his frenzied attacks also left him wounded and bleeding.
As if summoned by his worst fears, the torchlight began to flicker and sputter, casting dancing shadows across the corridor. In that uncertain light, the skeleton began to reform from the cracked gem, its bones knitting together with supernatural malevolence. When the process completed, Wyz found himself face-to-face with his undead nemesis once more, the creature’s empty eye sockets boring into him with renewed hatred.
The barrowmaze, it seemed, was far from finished with them.
